


Prohibition of the Heart

by Silver Lioness (Rumpels_Darker_Dearie)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark Grey Hermione, F/M, Smut, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:02:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22799770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rumpels_Darker_Dearie/pseuds/Silver%20Lioness
Summary: Dumbledore sends Hermione back in time and location - to 1920's New York where No-Maj's live in absolute ignorance of the Wizarding world surrounding them. One man has to change all that, otherwise what was the point of progress? That man? Gellert Grindelwald.One meeting with Hermione was all it took to convince Hermione she'd be better off under his tutelage than she was under Dumbledores... Because why else would Hermione be the one chosen on what others considered a suicide mission?
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Gellert Grindelwald
Comments: 15
Kudos: 98
Collections: Love Fest 2020





	Prohibition of the Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aerlinniel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aerlinniel/gifts).



> This has been beta'd by the lovely [tabbycat](url)
> 
> [](https://imgur.com/SctrfJL)  
> 
> 
> #LF2020 #TeamEros

**Failed Deception**

**I**

What had made Hermione do this? Oh yeah, The Greater Good, whatever that had meant when Dumbledore said it. On her 17th birthday, she was sent a note to come to The Headmaster’s office. Hermione knew that she had not broken any rules or received a bad essay grade, so she was uncertain what this could possibly mean.

What she met instead was the handsome Auror, Kingsley Shacklebolt, a wizard Hermione was slightly afraid of and had a crush on. She still blushed whenever he smiled at her. He searched her for any dark spell books, forbidden potions, and any other suspicious material. 

“Standard practice,” he said with a wink that made her want to twirl her hair around her finger and giggle – which is not who she was. Kingsley’s wide smile and an amused twinkle in his dark gaze often caught her out. She felt a little lightheaded at the man’s touch. He then bid her follow him into the office.

Inside, standing up with hesitant looks on their faces was Dumbledore’s inner circle. Arthur and Molly were there, one looked apprehensive and the other was wringing her hands, fighting off the urge to run and hug her. Her own apprehensive eyes fell on Professors McGonagall and Snape. Both had drawn their lips in a thin line with matching flinty gazes. There were a few others, but Hermione could not remember their names except for Dedalus Diggle, because it rhymes with Giggle and he always looked like a happy squirrel.

Then her gaze landed on Albus Dumbledore. He had a withered hand, his arm was turning black. How had he hurt himself? She also noticed he seemed frailer than usual. What was going on? Now she was scared.

“You cannot make her do this!” Molly exclaimed fiercely. “I won’t allow it.”

“Molly,” Albus admonished, “you are not her mother.”

“No, but I _know_ her mother,” Molly said, “and I’d know what she’d say.”

None of this was allaying her fears. “Sir, what is this all about?”

“He’s inducting you into the Order. You know about signed contracts in the Wizarding world, yes?” Professor Snape answered for him, she jumped out of her skin at the sound of his voice and mutely nodded. “He says there is a job only _you_ can do.”

With that, Albus Dumbledore opened a drawer in his desk and drew out a Time-Turner, but not the one she had seen before. “This is a powerful Time-Turner,” he said. “There is a task I wish to entrust to you – as you have already travelled in time you are aware of the risks. However,” he glanced over the top of his glasses, “you must break all the rules – there are a lot of people’s lives at stake. You have my permission to break the laws of time.”

McGonagall gasped and Professor Snape looked absolutely cynical. “If you wanted a lawbreaker you should have asked for Mr Potter.”

“Grindelwald liked pretty things,” Albus sighed.

Hermione scoffed. “Then send Lavender or Ginny,” she said. The rest of the sentence caught up on her, “Grindelwald? As in Gellert Grindelwald? As in the one who hated my kind…”

“You will have an alias, any name you like!”

“Hermione Katsaros,” she exclaimed. Everyone blinked at how quickly she had offered a name. “What?” She shrugged her shoulders. “It’s my grandma’s maiden name,” she sighed. Immediately, Dumbledore took a piece of parchment and started writing. It seemed someone else was having to explain the situation to her. She turned around the various blank gazes as no one wanted to be the one to impart bad news. Not everyone, she thought as she saw a wicked gleam in Professor Snape’s eyes. “Sir?”

Irritation was written clear across his face as he glared at her, “Our glorious Leader has deemed it worthy of your talents to find Grindelwald. To get close to him, to marry him, if necessary. You have three years to complete your task.”

“What if I fail?”

She half-expected for someone to say that failure is not an option. “Then things will remain as they are,” Dumbledore mumbled casually, shrugging his shoulders as he continued to write. “However, remember that the three years will lead to Tom Riddle’s birth. He might have been better under proper parental guidance. You are a suitable candidate as you are strong-willed, stubborn and compassionate.”

“But I’m not pretty.”

“Nonsense,” this came from Kingsley, as he bent down and whispered in her ear, “you have a beautiful smile and expressive eyes.”

“Thank you,” she whispered back, “but I do not have a comely face.” She began to flush again under Kingsley’s stare.

“Everyone is a pretty flower in Earth’s garden,” he said back, he stood up. “I wish to go with her,” he announced, loudly. “She will need a bodyguard.”

“You’re needed here.”

Kingsley narrowed his eyes, “I will not let her do this alone.”

“If anyone should go,” Molly snapped, “it’s me.”

Dumbledore rest the quill by the letter and propped his chin on his entwined fingers, elbows on the desk looking contemplatively, “No, Molly,” he said quietly but he might have shouted for all the impact his words had on the motherly woman, “Sorry, Kingsley, but you cannot go either. However, you are right, she does need someone else to go with her.”

“Who?”

“Kingsley made a good case,” Dumbledore mused, “but we need someone with knowledge of the Dark Arts.” He sat back. “How is our newest recruit settling in?”

“You can not be serious!” Arthur gasped.

Suddenly all the adults began arguing, their words a cacophony to Hermione’s ears as she could only make out two clear arguments. Molly was being particularly livid. “You can’t – she’s just a child!” and, “This is absolute ludicrousness!” from Professor Snape.

“You can’t send _him_ with her,” Arthur raged.

Whoever it was, she deemed, it must be bad. “Excuse me,” she said quietly, shy suddenly as all the adults were talking over her. No one heard as the bombardment of pros and cons were still aiming their way to an unsympathetic Dumbledore. “Excuse me,” she coughed now, trying to speak louder but her efforts were in vain. She rolled her eyes; all former shyness had disappeared. She stepped up on a chair and said as loud as she could, “Ex. Cuse. Me!” she said loud and slow. This almost stopped the chatter, but some had now resorted to hissing. Professor McGonagall looked dreadfully unhappy, “Oh for goodness sake,” Hermione huffed, “EXCUSE ME!” she shouted.

Now Hermione was the centre of attention. She flushed, as even Professor Snape had listened and shut up – that was a minor victory in itself.“Who is the new Recruit? What exactly is the entire plan? My backstory? If I am going to do this I need to be prepared.”

“First sensible thing you’ve said in six years,” Snape muttered, but appeared secretly impressed she had gained control of the previous chaos.

What she had not expected was Dumbledore to chortle like a child at a slightly rude word. “What pertinent questions,” he said. “You are going to be a reporter looking to write a story on Grindelwald, Kingsley brought up a good point, you do need a good bodyguard. I’ve got the right one in mind.”

“Not him!” Molly exclaimed. “Don’t you remember what he’s capable of? How many potions she had to take. Her parents were sick with worry.”

“No,” Dumbledore nodded sagely, “he will do nicely. It will keep him out of the way and yet he is still going to be useful. My only other choice would have been Severus, but he is sorely needed here at Hogwarts.”

Ten potions? Molly’s vociferous reservations? The way everyone seemed to react to Dumbledore’s suggestion. “Dear me,” he said, “my ears are ringing. Kingsley, could you please come with me to bring our new recruit here.”

Moments later, Hermione almost screamed at the sight of Dolohov standing proudly between them – he glanced at Molly and winked. “Szo,” he said, “Pchelka, we meet again.”

“What?” she gasped, “no, Professor Snape, can’t you come?” She turned to him with wide entreating eyes, trying to silently appeal to his better nature.

“Severus cannot go with you,” Headmaster Dumbledore sternly uttered. For the first time in her short life, she understood why people could be so fearful around him. It seemed he was exuding an aura that was designed to hurt. “He’s needed here in case you do not succeed. Now let’s talk business – shall we?”

Now she found herself in 1920’s America with a reluctant Dolohov in tow. What a pickle and she could not even blag a drink!

**II**

1926

**New York**

She had no time to research but she understood she had to find someone to direct her to the Ministry. Apparently an Auror called Percival Graves was important to meet according to Dumbledore, and he worked at the Ministry. What inconvenienced her was that America had a prohibition on alcohol, and oh boy she could use a drink. Even if she could just have Butterbeer. Antonin Dolohov’s brooding silence was playing on her last nerve.

She aimlessly wandered around New York, trying discreetly to find a witch or wizard that could help her. “Of course,” murmured her companion, “you could ask me,” he said nonchalantly. “It would save a lot of time.”

Instead of being grateful Hermione growled, “Why didn’t you tell me this from the start?”

“Because you did not ask.”

“There is nothing wrong with offering the information you already know.”

So it was that her truculent bodyguard took hold of her hand and led her around the city to an unassuming building in the centre of New York. “This is the Ministry.”

Hermione gasped as she walked in. It was a lot bigger than the outward appearance seemed. She yanked her hand out of Dolohov’s grasp and tried to force a smile, as from this first lie thousands more would tumble out of her mouth, and she was scared. Dolohov had taken his camera out from his bag and was hiding a smile as he glanced down at his charge under the pretence of fiddling about with his equipment.

Dolohov knew enough about Hermione to understand that she was going to despise this part of the plan. He could not help the deep-throated chuckle that vibrated through her. He knew that she wanted nothing to do with him, but her body betrayed her as he offered more of his personality to her. She liked men with a sense of humour, and that was a trait that had seen him sail through Hogwarts.

Squaring her shoulders, Hermione managed to plaster a smile on her face as she patted down her dress and felt her hair once more as it fell down her back in a chocolatey waterfall of curls and waves. “I am Miss Katsaros,” she said in an accent hinting at her Greek heritage, “I’m a journalist – I understand you have been…”

At that moment a particularly distinguished-looking Auror strode past overhearing, he took a glance at that girl and smiled.“A journalist?” he asked her.

“I have credible sources that put Grindelwald here.”

Everyone stopped working for a moment whilst looking at the trio.

“I want so much for that not to be true,” Graves sighed, “but we have also been warned of Grindelwald being here. I can assure the world's press that we have our eyes and ears open.”

“You do realise he will stop at nothing…”

Graves smiled. “Why don’t you come to my office?”

“I’d love to,” she said turning to Dolohov and clicked her fingers. “Will you be willing to go on the record.”

“Of course,” he smiled, assuring her. As Dolohov and Hermione followed them, Graves turned – “I wish that I was aware someone lovely would come today. My office is a bit of a mess.”

Hermione’s smile froze on her face. “Are you suggesting that if I was plain, an untidy environment would be better suited?”

Even Dolohov winced at the faux-pas Graves had made and smiled to his fellow wizard unsympathetically. Graves just blinked and his own expression faltered for a little, “Of course not,” he said frowning thoughtfully, “I meant no insult – I was just trying to flatter. Forgive my clumsy attempt.”

Dolohov coughed and again fumbled about with his equipment. Hermione rolled her eyes. Camera technology in the Wizarding World had not changed that much from now to her day. Surely even a lout like him had handled cameras before!? _Unless;_ she sighed, _he was an over-privileged brat who had had house elves to do everything for him._

Eventually, they reached Graves’ office and he opened the door, allowing her entrance first. Before she could react, Graves had shut and locked the door on Dolohov. She turned as the sound of the locks clicking caught her attention, and Hermione gasped as she watched Graves turn into the wizard she had been inquiring about.

“So – now I’m here,” he smirked, his blonde hair gelled back from his head, clear blue eyes coldly scrutinising her. “And I’m guessing,” he tilted his head, “you’re not really a journalist. In fact, you’re not even a full graduate of Hogwarts.”

“Stop being in my head,” she snapped as she glared at him. Before she could say anything else he had Accio’d her possessions away from her, along with the letter containing all her false documents.

“Well, well, well,” he said, “so you’re from the future? You’re really Hermione Granger, 17 and listening to Albus Dumbledore. As are a band of misfits it seems. Still,” he began as he casually aimed his wand at her documents. She watched, devastated, as everything crumbled into dust, all of her carefully constructed lies disintegrated into confetti. “Dumbledore,” he grinned, smiling almost softly, “what a waste. Let me guess,” he sat down on the chair and rested his boots on the desk. “You were told it would be for the good of wizardkind?”

“He told me nothing of the sort.”

Grindelwald was chuffed with glee. “Your wizard out there must be clever,” he sighed, flicking something off his trouser leg, “he won’t be able to get through my wards so… Sit, I insist.”

“I would rather stand.”

Rolling his eyes, he flicked his wand at the only other chair in the small office and caused it to slide on the floor where it hit the back of her legs forcing her to be seated, “Perhaps I did not make myself clear,” he said in a tone that required silence, “I said, I insist.”

He made a show of picking at his nails, his chin resting against his chest, eyes hooded over as he let out an exasperated sigh, “He is not my wizard,” she huffed out watching his nonchalant display.

“Really?” his eyes lit up. “Are you not attached?”

Pursing her lips as her back stiffened, Hermione shuffled in her seat – irritation guided her to fold her arms across her chest and jut her chin out defiantly. Aside from the odd fizzle in the air of Dolohov’s attempts to break the wards, there was utter silence. Grindelwald took this time to observe her properly. This was a new challenge, and he loved new challenges. Quick as a hare, his legs were off the desk and he was up on his feet walking around the table. Eventually, he stopped and perched his bottom on the edge of the desk. He was now close enough to realise her irritation was a front. She was terrified! The scent of fear permeated the air and he absolutely revelled in its aroma.

“I do not need a wizard to validate my existence.”

“Maybe not when you’re from,” he mused, “but you most certainly need one here and now. As it is forbidden for a union between wizards and Muggles of any kind in this country, you must be tied to a wizard.” The air crackled around them. Dolohov was coming closer to cracking the spell’s code “And that oaf you have with you won’t do for you.” He leaned closer and reached out to touch her. She could not shrink from him, but she tried. His fingertips still picked up locks of her hair as he trailed his hand through her locks. Eventually, his palm settled against her cheek. “Oh no,” he sighed as her power seeped through his touch, “you deserve the greatest wizard of all time, to exist – you have resentment, issues, and a…closed off…. part of you,” he whispered softly, “is attracted to power.”

“Only the good kind,” she said with a tremble to her voice. “I like kind men," she stuttered, "and history proves that you are not a kind man.”

“Ah,” Gellert waggled a finger and then stilled it to tilt her chin up. “but my Liebling, you are not a kind girl either. I see a girl with a word scrawled on her forehead forever.” He was twisting his head this way and that to confuse her. “Hmm, and what’s this? Tricking a teacher into a herd of centaurs – pretty bloody dark to me. Oh.” His lips curled as if he had discovered something amazingly impressive. “Drugging baked goods to take out your dumbest of opponents, stealing their clothes, locking them in the cupboard; and… Jackpot!” he grinned, and his eyes resembled the jewelled frosts of winter. “Polyjuice Potion, at such a tender age to fool a child. Your Headmaster allows you free roam to do with as you will but he always expects recompense. Yet you, you do not expect recompense, you expect freedom.”

“I believe that freedom means that true equality belongs to everyone.”

“So do I,” he said as he stroked along her jaw. “Hermione,” he stroked down her neck. Feeling her was such a thrill – he could siphon power off her forever, but he had a much better use for her than a mere source. “Why, I’ve just had an idea.” He tilted his head again,his thumb pinching delicately on the soft flesh. “You can be my bride. I can look after you, make sure you have representation. I suddenly find myself in need of a bride.” He leant in closer and Hermione had nowhere else to shrink, she was completely within his grasp. “What say you, Hermione? I could have you by my side.”His lips were close to her own, they brushed against her flesh. What manner of Succubus was she? “Albus sent you here because he intended you to fail. He intended you to die.”

“You lie,” she said her tone so deep and dark, her magic fizzling around her. Hair was springing to life; he adored the tendrils creeping around his wrist and up to his arm:

“Oh, you just don’t know how incredibly powerful you are, do you? He does,” the Dark Lord whispered, “he knows that you are more than powerful enough to someday see through him, as I had done years ago. I have seen into your mind – he’s dying, and you were sent here along with that goon to fail.”

“I cannot marry you!” she whispered.

“I can find you – the true you.”

Hermione turned and their lips met. The air around them sizzled and soared. His lips stayed on hers and the air crackled with energy and their power coalesced, fusing together the longer his hand was cupping her jaw and his lips caressing hers. Eventually, Hermione seemed to buckle under and allowed him to caress her lips further. His hand moved from her jaw to the back of her neck, cradling her – pulling her closer towards him so she could drown in his kiss, her mouth opened slightly, and he took this opportunity to urge the tip of his tongue inside her, carefully allowing her to become used to the feel of his tongue against hers. Gellert pulled away gently, tenderly using his fingertips. Her flesh began to tingle.

“That’s a power share, you will find yourself so much more now,” he said softly noticing with pleasure that her eyes were closed, and she was glowing from within. “Imagine what you could be if we were to go further, Hermione. I will see you as the glorious witch you are.”

“I’m just books and cleverness,” she sighed blinking her eyes open.“I’m nothing.”

He slipped off the desk and lowered himself to her position and covered her fisted hands with his own, “No,” he said tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, “not nothing – something,” he put emphasis on the word, “something unique, talented, someone special and important enough to make Dumbledore manoeuvre yourself out of the way. You." he exclaimed warmly, "are everything,” he urged. Continually stroking the back of her hair and finally, she looked down at him. His expression was genuine, his conviction too, and the way he wanted to comfort her. No one had done this before, not any of the Order members – except Remus, Kingsley and Molly – but here was the Darkest Wizard of the day on his knees, comforting her. “Ssh,” he shuffled closer, “you’re trembling, please just hear me out,” he rubbed up and down her arms, “be with me, in this time, as in yours a side needs to be chosen. Whom do you choose?”

“I’m not sure,” she whispered quietly, “what would you do for me if I said no?”

“Liebling,” he sighed, he raised his body up and placed his forehead against hers, she smiled as she felt her lips tremble in anticipation for his lips again. “I think I know you have chosen me.”

“But…”

“You’ve proven to me at least that you’re attracted to power – I can give you knowledge hitherto unknown, I can show you the magic you once believed in. Stay with me,” he brushed his lips against hers again causing her to gulp. She was being suffocated by his presence, it was enticing her with honey covered words. She should refuse him, should reject him but he was magnificently enigmatic, and she was trapped in her chair by his presence, allowing his words to seep into her skin, insidiously taking over her mind and her willpower to say no. A tear in the air above her and she was becoming a whirlwind of emotions, conflictions and convictions. “Come with me and be mine, Liebling,” he said as his magic swirled around them, lifting them from the floor.

The moment the door unclicked, the moment Dolohov had managed to dismantle the wards keeping him from his charge, Grindelwald wasted no time. He pressed his lips against hers one more time, offering her another taste that the sharing of their magic could provide. Blue sparks lit up the entirety of the room and, just as the door was opening Hermione opened her eyes – lambently they shone like amber and she nodded.

Dolohov had broken in the room just in time to see Grindelwald grinning from ear to ear at the shocked face of Antonin Dolohov as he mouthed one word: _mine._ He circled his arms around her and they were caught up in the swirling wind into the vortex. All that remained was Hermione’s coat.

The chair crashed down on the floor. “Mishka,” Dolohov sighed as he sniffed in her scent.

There is only one thing for it, he sighed. He had to go to Dumbledore in this time and try and unscramble the mess that had already been made.


End file.
